


Flightless Dove, Poison Ivy

by acaciapines



Series: hollyleaf and her brothers deserved better [5]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: (kinda), Gen, omen of the stars au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaciapines/pseuds/acaciapines
Summary: Moons ago, Hollyleaf and Jayfeather ran away to the grasslands. Thunderclan doesn't like to talk about it, not even to their newest members.-Dovepaw wants to help others. Ivypaw just wants to be someone important. Starclan has only ever cared about one of them.
Relationships: Blossomfall/Ivypool (Warriors), Briarlight/Dovewing (Warriors), Dovewing & Ivypool (Warriors)
Series: hollyleaf and her brothers deserved better [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1036701
Comments: 22
Kudos: 89





	Flightless Dove, Poison Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> this makes the most sense if you read the previous stories in the series, but can technically stand alone. all you need to know is that jayfeather and hollyleaf both killed ashfur, and left thunderclan.

Dovekit’s deep brown denmate brushes against her, and the world falls apart.

There is a horrible crack like the thunder she first heard a few days ago, like Starclan itself has descended from the sky, like they’ve come to claim her in their starry paws and rip her away from the soft comfort of her mother and sister. There is a shriek that contains within it the deepest heartbreak she’s ever heard, and Dovekit knows, in that instant, that the world isn’t just falling, but ending. The shriek is louder than the crack, a caterwaul of desperation, a noise of _ending._

Wind tugs at her pelt like claws, and she is standing in the middle of a storm thick with sound and light. The world is ending around her, and she tries to lift a paw and _run,_ tries again to yell her desperate cry. In a heartbeat, the world is terribly, hellishly quiet.

Dovekit blinks, and she is crying, and in front of her is the blurred face of her denmate. Her sister is asleep at her side, and her mother is talking in low tones to the other nursing-queen.

“Hey,” says the brown kitten in front of her, paws too big for her body. She is staring at her with worried blue eyes, and her ears are flat. “Sorry if I woke you, I didn’t mean to bump into you. Den’s too small for all of us.” She laughs, but it sounds forced. “Are you okay?”

Dovekit struggles to breathe again. “I…” She trails off. Nobody else is reacting. Nobody else heard the crack or the screaming. Maybe…maybe it was a nightmare. She buries her face in her paws to better rub at her eyes. “I’m—” Dovekit’s voice is half-quiet, more mumble than anything, and her ears flush hot. “You’re Briarkit, right?”

The brown kitten nods, and when Dovekit dares to peer up at her, she’s wearing a soft grin. “Yeah. And you’re Dovekit.” She tilts her head, and Dovekit manages a shaky nod. “Well. Glad to meet you.” Briarkit starts to move back toward her own nest, where her own siblings are curled asleep, and then stops. “Uh, you’re welcome to play with me and my siblings tomorrow. You’re big enough.”

Dovekit doesn’t feel big. She feels a lot like the world is crushing her, actually. But Briarkit looks at her and there is something in those blue eyes that make her feel at ease. That make the screams go away, just a bit.

“Okay,” Dovekit says, and she nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ve only ever played with Ivykit.”

“Wanna know a secret?” Briarkit leans her head down close. “I’ve also only played with my siblings. So, it’ll be new, but we’ll do it together.”

Dovekit grins, unsteadily. She’s okay. She’s okay and the world isn’t ending, and Briarkit is looking at her like she’s something interesting.

She takes a breath, and lifts one of her pale gray paws to touch to Briarkit’s. Her paw isn’t as big, but she’s getting there. Her denmate smiles, and Dovekit feels something gentle rest in her chest.

The crack is there, roaring in the back of her mind. Over time, Dovekit tunes it out.

* * *

The world Dovekit lives in is not a quiet one.

This, she is used to. There are days where being around others is something hard and pain-making: when all she can Hear are shrieks and cries and cracks, when all she can See are falling skies and flooded rivers and bloody paws. She knows this is something unique to her—she’s the only one to react when the world gets loud, and when she sees things, well.

She knows she is Seeing when Ivykit is torn and bloodied. She knows she is Hearing when there is a cat screaming, as though the world is ending. These are not things that are happening. She thinks they are visions, maybe, but she hasn’t yet built up the courage to ask Leafpool if these are visions from Starclan. They might be, but she doesn’t think they are prophecies: the stories the elders tell her involve starry pelts and confusing words, and what she Sees is nothing like that.

Dovekit curls into her nest, and pretends the world is quiet. It works for a while, like it usually does, until it is interrupted by Ivykit brushing against her, and when Dovekit opens her eyes, it’s to a flash of a missing eye before she blinks and her sister is staring at her with big eyes, bouncing on her paws.

“What?” Dovekit asks, pushing herself up and shaking stray bits of moss out of her fur. Ivykit doesn’t bother to explain, just nips and tugs one of Dovekit’s ears, and goes charging right out of the den. Dovekit stumbles after her, emerging into the lowlight of camp, full of the mingling meows of her clanmates. And, Dovekit notices, Briarpaw and Blossompaw, just entering camp.

“They’re back,” Ivykit says, a too-late explanation, puffing out her chest. “Your head doesn’t hurt too much, does it?”

“No,” Dovekit says. “No, I’m okay, for now. It’s fine.”

“ _Good,”_ Ivykit says, relieved, “I was getting tired of coming up with excuses why you couldn’t play with us. Briarpaw is really pushy.” She pounces forwards when the two apprentices show up, smacking into Blossompaw’s chest and tacking her to the ground. “Hello! You’ve been out forever.”

“Very long patrol,” Blossompaw says, rolling Ivykit off of her. Ivykit’s nearly the size of Blossompaw, and she shakes out her now-dusty fur. “Thornclaw kept going on and on and on about the borders, and I’m like, I can’t believe you’re stuck with him, Briarpaw.”

“He’s not that bad!” Briarpaw protests, greeting Dovekit with a friendly head-bump. “If you can get past all the patrol stuff, he knows what he’s talking about. After all, who won in battle practice today?”

“Oh? Wasn’t that Bumblepaw?” Blossompaw swats a paw at her sister, who ducks out of the way. “If I remember right, you fell off a tree and wailed about twisting your paw.”

“I didn’t think acorns were sharp!” Briarpaw flops down besides Dovekit, stretching out her left forepaw, which, indeed, has a cut in the pad. “Look at this, Dovekit. I was _bleeding._ And I had to suck it up and deal, because Starclan knows I wasn’t about to go to the medicine den.”

Blossompaw laughs, a sharp sound. Ivykit rears up onto her hindpaws and attempts to bowl her over that way, which is only half successful, and the two end up in a little pile on the ground. “Speaking of that,” she says, “what drama did you two overhear today, oh eyes on the inside?”

“Come on,” Ivykit says, shoving at Blossompaw’s cheek. “Nothing happened. Lionblaze has been in camp all day and nobody wants to deal with him when he’s all mopey.”

“Has he?” Briarpaw asks, and Dovekit points with a paw to the corner of camp Lionblaze has been moping around in: the far edge of camp, currently shaded by the Highledge. Currently, he’s got Cinderheart with him, and Dovekit assumes the two are speaking. “Huh. Time’s been passing quick, then, didn’t know it had been a moon yet.”

“I wish literally anybody would gossip about it,” Ivykit complains, biting Blossompaw’s ear. The older molly lets out an overdramatic yell, rolling onto her side and sticking her tongue out. Ivykit preens for a second, a paw to Blossompaw’s throat, before hopping off and sitting back. Blossompaw rolls to face them but otherwise doesn’t bother to get up. “It’s like, we all know he does it! And all anybody says is oh, he’s just going through some things. Well, what things? It’s not my fault I wasn’t born when apparently everything cool went down! And before you—”

“ _I_ think,” Blossompaw says, and Ivykit groans, “that it has to do with Purdy. I mean, think about it: Purdy stops getting ticks and a few days after that Lionblaze starts moping every full moon? There’s something connected there.”

“No, there absolutely—wait, shut up! Look!” Ivykit jabs a paw towards the medicine den. “You think…?”

From the medicine den, Leafpool emerges, and she strides over to where Cinderheart and Lionblaze are talking. Cinderheart notices first, her ears going flat, while Lionblaze looks up, sees Leafpool, and thumps his head down with a sigh loud enough Dovekit can hear it halfway across camp.

“So glad we’re here for this,” Blossompaw comments, even as Ivykit pounces at her to hush. “C’mon, let’s get closer!”

They do sneak closer, sticking to the shadows on the edges of camp, until they can pick out voices well enough. They arrive in the middle of the argument, but Dovekit has seen enough of these to know exactly how they go, so she doesn’t need the prior context. Leafpool will talk about duty and Starclan, Lionblaze will yell about cats he won’t name, and Cinderheart will snarl and hiss and talk in clipped responses.

“…wouldn’t want this!” Lionblaze is saying, “and on _today,_ of _all days,_ couldn’t you have just waited until the Gathering was over, at least?”

“You know very well why I have to do this today,” Leafpool hisses, “Cinderheart. Starclan has been calling for you to take up duty as medicine cat for moons, now. And you refuse? Still? I can’t—”

“You can!” Lionblaze yells, “you very much can! This is all so—stupid, and complicated, and I just—what is the point of any of this? Who cares! You don’t! I don’t! Who needs a medicine cat, anyways? If the position is apparently where we just throw all the cats who _Starclan_ says can’t be warriors, might as well be done with it!”

“What happened to—Starclan are our ancestors! They’ve been watching over us since the beginning! We’d be little more than rouges without them, and it is my job to interpret their signs! And I am saying I cannot do that job to its fullest anymore, and if no kitten will be my successor, and Firestar refuses to ask for another clan’s medicine cat to step in, we need someone with prior knowledge, and that’s _you,_ Cinderheart.”

“Did you know that I want to be a mother?” Cinderheart asks. “That I don’t want a position that’s been haunting my best friend’s life?” Cinderheart stands, glaring at Leafpool. “I understand that Starclan is calling for me, but—”

“Are you three on about this again?” Mousefur yells, and Dovekit jolts over to see that the elder must’ve been woken by the yelling, where she had been dozing out with Longtail. “It’s ruining the evening! Starclan’s got a path for us all, and even if we don’t like it, we walk it!”

Cinderheart snarls. “Fine,” she spits, “fine! You know what? This is just fine.” She stalks off with a snarl, brushing past Dovekit as she does, and—

Cinderheart is in the medicine den, and she is sorting herbs, and her eyes are staring but not processing. There is a yell from outside, and when she leaves the den, there is blood, and blood, and even more blood—Dovekit is used to blood, by now. She is even, sometimes, used to seeing her sister dripping with it, staggering on her paws. But what she sees—she sees Ivykit, except full-grown, and she is torn and bleeding and _dead,_ and Cinderheart is staring at her with horror, and the air is thick and heavy and yowling, and, and, and.

Dovekit yelps and skitters backwards, nearly tripping over her own paws. She bumps into Briarpaw’s chest, who looks down at her with a tilted head, but _she can’t she can’t she can’t,_ she can’t hear the crack again, so she yells and charges for the nursery, where things are deep and dark and quiet. She buries her head in her paws, and tries to breathe.

These have to be messages from Starclan. They have to be, there’s no other reason for them. And—and if that was Cinderheart, and she was medicine cat, and there was Ivykit dead, and no no no, Ivykit can’t die. Dovekit won’t let her.

She Sees the future. Or she sees something like it, anyways—it’s the only explanation Dovekit has ever been able to come to. She likes to pretend she sees the worst futures, because they’re so bathed in blood.

She doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t want to hurt anybody. She doesn’t want her sister to die. She doesn’t want Cinderheart to be stuck doing something she doesn’t want to be.

Dovekit breathes, and the breaths are shaking.

“Dovekit?” It is Ivykit who speaks, peering into their nest, and Dovekit looks up at her with wild eyes. “Are you—Briarpaw’s asking if she can come in. Are you—was it another head thing?”

“It’s.” Dovekit shudders. Ivykit is the only one who knows about what she Sees, and even then, Dovekit hasn’t told her everything. “It’s. I’m okay. I think…I just realized something.”

“Oh,” Ivykit says. “Well, you have fun with that. I’m going to tell Briarpaw to come in? Do you want me, or…?” She bumps her nose to Dovekit's head. 

Dovekit sees blood, when she stares at Ivykit. Crusted at the side of her jaws, a place she hasn’t seen it before. “Just her,” Dovekit says, “just Briarpaw.”

It’s not easier, with Briarpaw. But Dovekit curls herself into her friend’s side, and focuses on Briarpaw’s words, tries to tune out the cracking until it dies down and when she blinks, she is staring at the world around her again, at Briarpaw, who is recounting her day.

Dovekit sleeps there, for the night. And when morning comes, she goes straight to the medicine den, and asks to become the next medicine cat apprentice. When she brushes pass Cinderheart on her way out, she Sees a flash of Cinderheart playing with two black-and-white kittens, and that’s enough to carry Dovekit through the day.

* * *

There are more herbs than Dovepaw thought there would be.

She’s never considered, really, how many different plants she would need to memorize to become a medicine cat. And it may still be her first few days of learning, but the number of plants Leafpool pulls out to show her, all with their own uses and places to be found and how to and how not to mix them…it’s overwhelming, just a bit.

Dovepaw blinks, shaking her head and lifting a paw to rub at her ears. “Wait,” she says, “wait, stop, please, I’m not processing anything.” She takes a breath to re-orient herself, and her ears flicker towards the chatter from outside the medicine den—Ivypaw is out there, tussling with Blossompaw. It’ll be Ivypaw’s first team hunt.

“You have to _focus,”_ Leafpool says, snapping Dovepaw’s attention away from her sister. “The half-moon is tonight, and there’s already a lot I have to ask Starclan. I can’t be worrying about you, too.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just—loud.” Dovepaw shakes herself, again. She hasn’t been overwhelmed by visions in a while, other than the ones she usually sees from Ivypaw—she’s got a torn ear, Dovepaw’s noticed. A bloody mouth and a torn ear, and she’s backlit by the moon.

It’s better than her dead in the middle of camp.

“You can start again,” Dovepaw says, sitting straighter. “The, the Moonpool, that’s where we’re going?” Leafpool nods. “Okay. Do I have to…will I have to do anything special?”

“I’ll introduce you to everyone, and then to Starclan,” Leafpool says. “What they show you is your own, unless it concerns the entire clan.”

“Okay,” Dovepaw says. Are her—is Ivypaw bloody something that concerns the clan? What about that horrid crack she gets from Briarpaw, along with a shriek and rain—is that? Or Cinderheart, playing with kittens?

Maybe they’re nothing. Dovepaw’s already fixed things, hasn’t she? Ivypaw’s no longer dead when they brush pelts.

“Who else will be there?” Dovepaw asks, wanting to move away from her thoughts.

“Windclan has Kestrelflight,” Leafpool says, hooking a dark green leaf in a claw and holding it up to the light. “Shadowclan has Littlecloud and Flametail, Riverclan Mothwing and Willowshine. Of them all, we’re closest with the Riverclan medicine cats—Littlecloud is a bit shier, and Flametail and Kestrelflight are rather close, and also around the same age. I recommend talking with Willowshine and Mothwing. I’m considering…” Leafpool trails off with a sigh. “I’m sure you know that I wish to become a warrior.”

“I know,” Dovepaw says, tilting her head at the herb Leafpool is holding. Darker green…dock is darker, right? Though Dovepaw doesn’t remember what it does.

“I’ve been thinking of asking Mothwing and Willowshine to teach you some things,” Leafpool says, and Dovepaw bristles, at that. “I trust Mothwing, and Willowshine was close with Ho—Willowshine can be trusted, as well. You need to have a mentor who can provide for you, and I’m not…going to be that.”

For a second, Dovepaw considers reaching out a paw, brushing it to Leafpool’s side. She can’t see the past, and she knows there are things about Leafpool she doesn’t know—it’s bothered Ivypaw and Blossompaw for as long as Dovepaw can remember. But she’s not sure she wants to see blood, not yet. “Would I go to Riverclan?”

“Hopefully not,” Leafpool says, “I’d ask Mothwing to come here, if Riverclan can spare her. But if not…” Leafpool sighs. “That’s a problem for me. For you, a quiz.”

Dovepaw sighs. She’s not very good at those.

But she does okay, in the end: she’s usually able to get either name or function, though very rarely both, and Leafpool tells her that’s pretty good for less than a week as medicine cat. She’s released to go do her own thing afterwards, and Dovepaw leaves the den, entering into the chatter of camp. It’s a little before sunset, and she’s got some time before she has to make her way to the Moonpool—from what Leafpool’s told her, they tend to arrive around midnight.

With her friends gone, Dovepaw ends up in the elder’s den, listening to Mousefur and Longtail’s recollections of the old forest, and Purdy’s stories from his youthful days traveling, while she helps them with ticks. It’s not bad, all things considered: the elder’s den is quieter than the rest of Thunderclan, and even when Dovepaw grooms them, she doesn’t get any flashes of something horrible.

The sun’s set when Dovepaw pricks her ears, and hears the loud, excited sounds of her sister just returning, and Dovepaw nearly trips over her own paws in her rush to greet her. “Ivypaw!” Dovepaw calls, skidding around Blossompaw to nearly crash into her sister. “Hi! I’m been waiting to talk to you. How was your day?”

“Pretty cool,” Ivypaw says. Her fur is ruffled around the edges, but she looks happy. “I nearly caught a starling, but _someone,”_ a pointed glare to Blossompaw, “scared it off.”

“Me and my mouse don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blossompaw says, somewhat muffled through her catch. She waves her tail in farewell as she heads off to deposit it on the fresh-kill pile.

“She’s lying,” Ivypaw says, but she bumps her head to Dovepaw’s. “How’s things with you? Tired of being stuck with Leafpool all day?” Ivypaw wiggles playfully, batting at Dovepaw’s ear. “Briarpaw says she’s missing you. We all thought you’d be out training with us.”

“Where is Briarpaw?” Dovepaw asks, having just noticed her friend isn’t here.

Ivypaw flicks an ear, nipping at one of Dovepaw’s to tug her towards the fresh-kill pile, where Blossompaw is trying to select something to eat. “Thornclaw dragged her off for a night patrol, she’ll be back soon enough.”

Dovepaw frowns. “I’ll probably miss her, then. I have to go to the Moonpool for that medicine cat meeting thing.”

“Oh,” Ivypaw says. “Let me know what Starclan tells you about your…thing.” Ivypaw waves a paw at Dovepaw, frowning a bit. “You know. Finally going to tell me how cool I look when I’m older?”

“I’ve told you,” Dovepaw says, nodding to Blossompaw, coming over with a wren, and settling down in an empty part of camp. “You have a nicked ear and look really strong.”

Ivypaw puffs out her chest. “That’s right, I do,” she says. “Me and Blossompaw already decided to be the best warriors Thunderclan’s ever seen. Next leader-deputy pair, that’s gonna be us! And then Briarpaw can be, I dunno, a really cool senior warrior, and we’ll all be the cool new leaders of Thunderclan.”

Dovepaw snorts. “That’s a lofty dream.”

“I think it’ll work.” Ivypaw bumps against Blossompaw. “I mean, look at it this way: I’ve already got a medicine cat for a sister and we’re related to Firestar!”

“Distantly,” Dovepaw says.

Blossompaw purrs, joining in. “I keep telling her,” she says, “I tell her, Ivypaw, you very well know Bumblepaw is going to sabotage you. You’re going to get paired with him in hunting, and he’s going to stumble into a Shadowclan cat, and then there’s going to be a whole thing and you’re all going to get punished even though ONE OF YOU was stupid enough to RUN RIGHT INTO A SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR.” She glares across the clearing at Bumblepaw, talking to Millie, who just crinkles his nose at her and shrugs. “This is why he’s not cool enough to be in our group.”

“I’m sorry, Blossompaw,” Ivypaw says, mock-sweet, “I’m so sorry that you’re such a pushover that you can’t take your revenge out on your—hey!” She’s cut off mid-sentence by Blossompaw, who growls and tackles Ivypaw to the ground, and the two start wrestling. Dovepaw sighs and takes a bite of wren.

She misses Briarpaw. She misses sharing a den with her sister and their friends. She wishes Ivypaw would stop asking her about her visions.

“Dovepaw,” Leafpool calls, and Dovepaw lifts her head to see her mentor beckoning her over. “C’mon. We need to get going.”

Dovepaw stands. Debates going to say goodbye to Ivypaw.

But she’s having a great time with Blossompaw, so in the end, Dovepaw leaves them be.

* * *

The stars are bright above when Dovepaw sets out after Leafpool, making her way through Thunderclan’s forest. There’s a lot about her own territory she doesn’t yet know: Leafpool gave her a tour, yes, but it was a brief one, and after that she was only shown a couple common places where herbs grow. But walking through it now, where she can hear the loud buzzing of bugs, see the pinpricks of stars through leaves…it’s a beautiful place. Dovepaw wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s like walking where her ancestors did—she knows from the elders that the clans have, at most, been here for only two generations. But with Starclan all spread out above, and the dirt below, and knowing that maybe in the far-flung future, one without blood or horrid cracks, another medicine cat apprentice might walk this same path…

It’s something, alright. Dovepaw shakes herself and hurries up.

“We should meet up with Kestrelflight soon,” Leafpool says, as they approach the river that divides Thunderclan from Riverclan. It’s out of tree cover, too, and Dovepaw looks out to the sprawling moor where Windclan lives, empty of trees and anything familiar. She crinkles her nose. How could a cat live somewhere so open? She’s heard from gossip that Windclan sleeps out in the open, too. She remembers Briarpaw telling her, her lip curled in distaste as, in her lilting voice, she said, “imagine when it rains! Sodden fur, no _thanks.”_

“Dovepaw,” Leafpool says, breaking Dovepaw out of her thoughts. “I was asking, do you remember what herbs grow along the river?”

“Uh,” Dovepaw’s ears twitch flat. “Fennel, I think? And that, what was it, the little white flowering plant? And willow trees, so anything from them.”

“The second one is feverfew,” Leafpool says. “And yes, you’re right, though there’s quite a few more plants that grow well near water. There’s—oh. Hello, Kestrelflight.”

Dovepaw looks to the other side of the river, where she can make out a short-furred black tom with white dappling loping toward them, stopping before he has to cross the river. His tail curls in greeting. “Hello, Leafpool. Just us, for now? Who do you have with you?”

“Dovepaw, my apprentice,” Leafpool says, and Dovepaw blinks in greeting.

“Huh, cool.” The river starts to narrow, making conversation easier. “Haven’t managed to find a single Windclan kit who would give up chasing rabbits to become my apprentice, but that’s what assistants are for, I suppose. Greetings to you, Dovepaw! You’re got quite the paws to fill, Leafpool’s last apprentice was always good for a laugh or two.”

“There was another medicine cat?” Dovepaw asks, looking to Kestrelflight.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, Jayfeather. Fun guy. Don’t think he liked me that much, but he was dry and sarcastic in a way that always made the long walks fun. Would always ask him ‘so, what is it that Starclan showed you?’ and he’d always shoot me back with any number of responses, like, ‘I don’t know, rabbit-chaser, it was just as nothing as my waking life!’ Wasn’t too much of a surprise when he went off the deep end, I suppose. And hey! Flametail! Nice of you to finally show up.”

“Kestrelflight!” Up ahead, a ginger tom turns back, grinning as he trots over to join Kestrelflight. The river is rather shallow here, and as Leafpool makes her way across, Dovepaw follows. It’s only up to about mid-leg, but it’s not the most comfortable, and she gives herself a good shake once she’s out. Jayfeather? She’s never heard about a Jayfeather. Is this what all the older cats keep from them? “I _thought_ I had started out too early! How’s hunting?”

“You know,” Kestrelflight butts heads with the other tom. “Tons of rabbits, the usual. You aren’t eating crowfood, I hope? And where’s Littlecloud”

Flametail laughs. “We aren’t,” he says, “we literally never are. As for Littlecloud, he had to stay behind: newleaf sickness, and all that. And hello there, I don’t recognize you?” He directs his final question to Dovepaw, pricking an ear. “I see we have a new contender for Thunderclan medicine cat.”

“I’m Dovepaw,” Dovepaw says. Everything is…fast, here: these two must be good friends. “Are—did you know Jayfeather?”

“He’s my cousin,” Flametail says, “or—was? Starclan, I don’t know. It’s been a weird few moons for us all.”

“I’d say still is?” Kestrelflight says. “Not like you ever wronged him, and you told me that you all had a great time tromping around Thunderclan territory as apprentices.”

“Well, that’s something for me to think about later.” Flametail shakes himself. “So! Before this gets to awkward: welcome, Dovepaw, and I’m sure Starclan will accept you.”

“Uh…thanks?” Dovepaw says. She sends a questioning glance Leafpool’s way, desperately wanting to know anything that’s going on. If only she could’ve brought her sister and friends along. They’ve been dying to know what it was Leafpool and Lionblaze always fought over, and Dovepaw’s starting to get an idea that whoever this Jayfeather is, he probably played a pretty big part. Leafpool, however, doesn’t meet her gaze, and walks alone up ahead, while Dovepaw listens to Kestrelflight and Flametail chat.

It’s another while before Riverclan joins up with them: two mollies, one a long-furred golden tabby who blinks curiously at Dovepaw before going up ahead to speak quietly with Leafpool, and the other a shorter gray tabby, who greets the toms with a friendly purr, falling into step with them. “Hello!” she says. “Thought we would be late, good thing we caught up!” She glances to Dovepaw. “Oh, I didn’t know Thunderclan got a new medicine cat! I’m Willowshine, my mentor up there is Mothwing, but,” and she lowers her voice, “I recommend you hang out with us three, yeah? They and Littlecloud are all the oldies. This is the much cooler group.”

“I’m Dovepaw.” Dovepaw staggers, a bit, when Willowshine brushes against her: Willowshine at a gathering talking with a long-furred black molly, somewhere half-hidden in bushes, the both of them looking upset. When she blinks, the vision is gone. “You’re, uh, is this us all?”

Willowshine nods. “Group’s felt off since Jayfeather went and ran off on us,” she comments. “Though, please _don’t_ take on his exact role. Sometimes I felt like he never wanted to be here and that wasn’t a fun thing to be around.”

“Sometimes?” Dovepaw asks.

“Well, he was medicine cat, yeah? You have to actively go out of your way to pick that.” Kestrelflight shrugs. “Not like Onestar told me I had to do this job. I had to go pester Barkface until he gave in. But, still…it was weird, is all. And then that speech he gave when he left…I just hope he’s doing better as a loner.”

“As a loner?” Dovepaw frowns. And what does he mean, has to pick? The clan’s been pressuring Cinderheart to be a medicine cat since Dovepaw was born. “How far is it to the Moonpool?”

“A while,” Flametail says.

“Then…can you tell me about Jayfeather? Who is he? I’ve never heard of him before, and now…” Dovepaw trails off. “Well. Now I’ve heard him mentioned by three different cats, none of them Thunderclan.”

“Oh, sure,” Willowshine says. “Well, he was just a normal cat, Thunderclan’s medicine cat, all that. But…six or so moons ago, at a gathering, he and his siblings, Hollyleaf and Lionblaze, they all climbed the Great Oak, and it was revealed that actually, they were the kits of Leafpool and Crowfeather, a Windclan warrior.”

Dovepaw stares up at Leafpool.

“I know, right? It was a very wild gathering.” Willowshine laughs, a bit. “But he ran off, after that, him and Hollyleaf. Nobody knows where they went, though I assume it was to go be loners, since Jayfeather did also add that he’d killed somebody: Ashfur, a Thunderclan warrior.” The molly shrugs. “That’s pretty much all I know. I assumed you’d know more, being Thunderclan and all, but then again, you were either very young or not born yet when all that happened, I’m guessing.”

_Lionblaze must be mad Leafpool scared his siblings off,_ Dovepaw realizes. _And Leafpool probably wants to quit being a medicine cat since she broke the code._

“Hope they’re both alive out there, somewhere,” Flametail adds, thoughtfully.

“Oh, man, I just remembered this,” Kestrelflight says, “you know Breezepelt? Gossip says he’s been chatting with Lionblaze across the river, recently.”

“No,” Willowshine says, amazement obvious in her voice, “known local grump _Breezepelt?”_

The conversation devolves, there, into something Dovepaw can’t follow, too full of names she doesn’t recognize and references she doesn’t get. But she’s got enough, already. Two entire cats that have been kept hidden from her. Another medicine cat who came before her.

She’s not sure how long the rest of the walk takes, only that the path begins to slope downwards, and then, in front of her, is the Moonpool. It’s a large enough pond that all of them could lie around it and there’d still be room for another few cats, and it’s lit silvery from the moon above, reflecting the stars and sky in a calm tranquility. It’s surrounded by a flat-rocked shore, and is fed from above by a small little waterfall coming out of the cliffs.

“Dovepaw,” Leafpool calls, and Dovepaw takes a deep breath and joins her mentor by the Moonpool. As she does so, the rest of the cats fill in around it—Mothwing sits near Leafpool, and the others across from them. Willowshine grins at Dovepaw. Flametail catches her eye, and winks. Kestrelflight just nods at her.

The water before her is still and quiet. Dovepaw stares into it as Leafpool speaks. “Starclan,” she says, “I bring you my apprentice, Dovepaw, who has chosen to walk the path of a medicine cat. I pray you accept her as you once accepted me.” Leafpool’s tail rests on Dovepaw’s back. “The rest is up to you. Touch your nose to the water and drink a few drops—Starclan will decide what to show you.”

“Right,” Dovepaw says, a little shaky, as she lays down with her paws tucked under her, dipping her head down to touch her nose to the surface of the water. Her reflection watches her, green eyes round and nervous, pale whiskers twitching where they stand out against the dark of her snout. She drinks a few drops, and—

Dovepaw stumbles to her paws in a clearing. She’s not at the Moonpool, anymore, but she is in a place that swirls with starry mists, and everything that ever will be is laid out in front of her. She sees thousands of cats in thousands of places, hunting and fishing and grooming and sleeping, kittens that tumble over each other into adulthood, who fight and laugh and play. It is like she has taken the future and spread it around her like Leafpool spreads herbs around her den, and when she spins she can see more, and more, and more. There is a heaviness resting by her sides, and when Dovepaw takes a step, it is into and around the images that swirl. They fall away and rise up like a chest might when one is breathing.

And in some of them, Dovepaw sees those she knows. She sees Ivypaw, except older, covered in scars, including one that stands out stark against her neck. Around her are two other cats: Blossompaw is one, her tortoiseshell fur ragged and ruffled out like a cat preparing to fight, similarly older, her eyes narrowed; and the second, a dark brown tom with a while belly and blue eyes that stare out and pierce at Dovepaw’s very soul, something in them so tired and angry it threatens to drag her down with it. In another, she sees Lionblaze and Cinderheart, back to back, frozen in time, yet their expressions mirrored looks of fear and determination. And in yet another, Leafpool, sitting by a river that reflects no moon or stars.

“Hello?” Dovepaw yowls. Is this it? Is this Starclan? Nothing but her visions, magnified and worse? “Is anybody there?”

The visions die in an instant, and then Dovepaw is surrounded by stars, a dizzying, twirling array. She can make out faint cat-shapes in them, long tails and arched back, hissing like wind thorough leaves, that tug at her pelt like thorn-sharp claws.

“There will be three,” the stars say, and the sound echoes like rushing water in Dovepaw’s skull, “kin of your kin, who will hold the power of stars in their paws.” Above, Dovepaw can see three stars, and as a star-cat steps out from the crowd, one brightens, burning and sun-bright.

The star-cat before her is tall and gaunt, white-muzzled with blue-gray fur standing on end. “Sunburst, who will crush the clans underpaw, and the lake will run bloody again.” She kinks her tail over her back, and slices a claw through the air—faint shimmers of stars follow. “Or, he will fight like fire from long ago to keep them safe.”

She’s replaced by a tom stained soot-gray, dappled with darker spots. “Fatespeaker, who will shape the world to her whims, twisting words like breaking a spine.” He hisses, long and low, bares his teeth like the ending is caught in his throat. “Or, she will spin words like a bramble barrier to turn away the dark.”

The next cat is broad and stout, flat-faced. “Dreamwalker, who will turn his back on the stars and herald an age of darkness.” She arches her back and spits. “Or, he will arise to fix what’s been broken.”

The star-cats coalesce, into one thing too bright for Dovepaw to look at, that makes her eyes water and close—yet she can still see clearly, see the entirely of Starclan before her. “And you,” they say, together again, “you who will watch and know and listen. You who will fix and understand and lead.” They hiss, and before Dovepaw spreads the Moonpool, where she can see all the others, asleep in their own dreams, and even her own small form, still near Leafpool. “There will be three who hold the stars: the prickled holly, the sharp-eyed jay, the roaring lion. And peace can only come on a dove’s gentle wing.”

Swimming in ice-cold and reaching for a surface that never comes. A black molly, an old friend, and whispered secrets. Three kittens, and a sky devoid of stars. A molly patched in white and gray with a bloodstained jaw. A golden tom, a gray molly, and those they shelter from the dark. A gray-brown tom who watches the forest burn. A gray tabby tom who basks in the heat.

The stars fade away, and Dovepaw stares into the Moonpool, where she sees herself. She sees herself, and she sees her dark pointed muzzle, the fuzz of her ears, her pale belly and paws, her fur all puffed up. She sees herself, and her eyes are closed. She sees herself, and there in her reflection are wings spread wide, the feathers the same gray as her coat, and nested in each feather is an eye that stares ahead unblinking, green and blue and gold and every shade in between, always watching, always knowing.

Dovepaw stumbles backwards, and wakes feverish.

* * *

“So,” Leafpool says, once they’ve separated from the other medicine cats, and are back on their own land. It’s a bit hard to walk, now—images are still swirling in Dovepaw’s mind, eyes in feathers and her sister with blood on her jaws, leading. “Did Starclan show you anything? They won’t always give signs, mind, but usually some advice.” When Dovepaw is quiet, she continues. “For me, I saw an old Thunderclan medicine cat, Spottedleaf, who told me I had made the right choice. And as we were walking back, I saw a dove’s feather floating by in the river, and I believe that was another sign from Starclan, that you being mentored by Riverclan would prove successful.”

“I…” Dovepaw trails off. Does she want to talk about the wings? Her sister? “I think I got a prophecy,” she settles on. Leafpool said early that she’d only have to share the things that impacted the wellbeing of Thunderclan, and the prophecy seems to fit that regard.

“Wow,” Leafpool says. She purrs, softly. “You must have quite the connection with Starclan, to get a prophecy your first visit. What did it concern?”

“It said…” Dovepaw scuffs at the dirt. “It said there would be three cats, and that they’d have the power of stars, and that they’d either save the clans or destroy them.”

Leafpool is quiet, for a moment, and Dovepaw wonders if she’s done something wrong—was this a vision thing, and not a Starclan thing? But then, her voice determined, Leafpool says, “did you see anything else? Images, the cats who gave it to you?”

“There were…it was like it was all of Starclan talking together.” Dovepaw crinkles her nose at the memory of the swirling mists. “They named three cats. Sunburst, Fatespeaker, and Dreamwalker. And…” Dovepaw frowns. “Before. I saw images of cats. And it wasn’t all…good. Some of them looked like they had been fighting, and it was bad.” _Ivypaw was leading the fight,_ Dovepaw doesn’t say. _Ivypaw was fighting against us, I think, and I was supposed to help her. Cinderheart was scared, and I was supposed to help her._

“You saw images of cats?” Leafpool prompts.

“It was like…” Dovepaw’s ears flatten, and her tail twitches. “It was everything. The future. And it was all laid out in front of me. Actually, I,” Dovepaw tilts her head, considers. “I saw you,” she says. “You were sitting near a river, and you looked happy, but the river didn’t reflect any stars or the moon or anything, like the sky was empty.”

“That’s…” Leafpool sighs. “That’s quite a lot, for your first visit. I think you should tell Firestar about this—he got a prophecy, a very long time ago, similar to yours. And I think…if you’re getting prophecies about them, I think I should tell you about what happened before you were born.”

“The others told me,” Dovepaw says. “About Jayfeather. Willowshine said he was your son?”

“He…it’s complicated, but yes, I gave birth to him and his siblings.” Leafpool sighs, again, and there’s something heavy and upset in it. “Ever since then, part of me knew I wasn’t cut out for _this.”_ She gestures between the two of them. “For being a medicine cat. I love healing, I really do, but the code that comes with it—well.” She laughs, bitter. “I’m sure Jayfeather would tell you about me if he was still here.”

“Did you fight?” Dovepaw guesses.

“Not face-to-face,” Leafpool says. “He and his sister, Hollyleaf, the both of them just didn’t acknowledge me, and that hurt more.”

“But you fight with Lionblaze.”

“That was…unrelated.” Leafpool looks around, and hops up onto a tree root, patting beside her with her tail. Dovepaw climbs up to join her, ears perking, a bit. “Despite everything I feel about the medicine cat code, I do have a connection with Starclan, and I didn’t want to leave the clan without a medicine cat. I’ve been asking them for help, and on one such visit to the Moonpool, they sent me a vision: my mentor, Cinderpelt, died defending the nursery a very long time ago. One of those kits she protected—”

“Was Cinderheart,” Dovepaw cuts in, realizing. “And they wanted her to become the next medicine cat?”

“She was best-suited.” Leafpool nods, her tail tapping against the wood. “But Cinderheart wasn’t open to the idea. I am…glad. That you came along, and you wanted the job. Lionblaze and Cinderheart are, if not mates, the next closest thing, and I feared if she was worn down into accepting…” Leafpool trails off and shakes her head. “Nevermind. But that day you came to me, I knew you’d be a good choice.”

“You did?” Dovepaw asks. “I’m bad at memorizing herbs, though.”

“That will come in time,” Leafpool says. “I knew, because medicine cats have to _care,_ and you’ve proven that you very much do.”

Dovepaw goes uncomfortably warm.

“What did the original prophecy Firestar get say?”

Leafpool, thankfully, doesn’t call out the subject change. “There will be three, kin of your kin, who will hold the power of the stars in their paws,” Leafpool recites. “It was about my—about Jayfeather, Hollyleaf, and Lionblaze, or so we thought. Jayfeather had…he could step into other cats’ dreams. Lionblaze was a very powerful fighter—he healed quicker than possible. He’d get clawed across the face and by the end of the battle, it was little more than a scar. And Hollyleaf…I don’t know about her. What did your prophecy say? Fatespeaker?” She tilts her head. “I assume you know more than me what her power might be.”

“Maybe.” Dovepaw frowns. “Leafpool, the medicine cat code…we’re not supposed to share prophecies with anyone but each other and the leader, right?”

“That’s correct,” Leafpool says. “And—Dovepaw? For all my personal feelings on it, it’s there for a reason and was written by our ancestors. It’s as sure as a rock. Don’t go telling your sister and friends about this, okay? If Blossompaw managed to keep a secret for longer than a few hours, I’d eat my own tail.”

“She’s not _that_ bad,” Dovepaw says, bristling. “She just talks loud, is all. I want to tell Ivypaw! I promised her I would.”

“There are responsibilities that come with being medicine cat,” Leafpool says, standing. She tastes the air and begins heading back to camp, and Dovepaw follows, paws dragging. “I used to be much closer to my own sister, when we were both kits. Cats…cats grow up. Relationships change. That’s just life.”

“I don’t like lying to Ivypaw,” Dovepaw mutters. Even when Ivypaw never fully understood her visions, Dovepaw still tried to tell her. And the things she kept, the blood and death—that’s to protect Ivypaw and she still feels bad about it! “It’s not a good thing to do.”

“Look at it this way,” Leafpool says. “It’s for the good of the clan. Ivypaw can live without knowing about what Starclan has shared with you, I assure you. She gets in enough trouble as-is.”

Dovepaw laughs, a little, thinking back to all the ill-advised schemes Ivypaw has already joined in on: luring Bumblepaw into the lake, sneak-attacking the senior warriors, helping Blossompaw hide in trees to then scare Briarpaw. It’s the type of things she wants to be a part of, desperately. The things she always thought she would be, in a sorta vague, abstract way: she’d maybe not be the one doing the schemes, but she’d be doing more than watching them, for sure.

“Oh, Dovepaw?” Leafpool says. Dovepaw pricks her ears. “I asked Mothwing about mentoring you with Riverclan—she said she doubts she can come here, but that you’re free to go over to them to be mentored.”

Dovepaw blinks, staring down at her paws. “Why can’t you just teach me?” she asks.

“It’s…complicated.” Leafpool sighs. “I’m not a very good medicine cat, Dovepaw. I haven’t enjoyed this job since I had…” she trails off, not that Dovepaw needs her to finish. She had kits and broke the code.

“Isn’t that a stupid rule, then?” Dovepaw asks. “I think not letting me tell Ivypaw is stupid, but at least I can get the mindset of that one, a bit. But not having kits? Or a mate? How does that affect anything?”

“The code has been around since the clans have been around,” Leafpool says. “It was written by Starclan. It’s…harder, to be impartial, if you have kits who are hurt. And it’s hard to give your job your all if you’re nursing, or otherwise distracted.”

“I guess,” Dovepaw says. She thinks back to her vision—to a lake devoid of stars, and Leafpool sitting by it. She feels the phantom ruffle of feathers, the folding of wings at her side, and for a second, it is like opening her eyes from a dream, like she has been picked up and help above the entirety of the clans’ territories, and she can see it all, from Windclan chasing rabbits to Flametail making his way home, a ginger speck in the forest.

She takes another step, and the visions all collapse.

* * *

Dovepaw leaves Firestar’s den, her head spinning from having to repeat her vision from Starclan so many times, and she makes it about seven steps before Ivypaw pounces on her, tackling her to the ground. Dovepaw yelps, and rolls, until she comes to a stop with Ivypaw pinning her, eyes excited and ears shoved forwards, her fur all ruffled up.

“Dovepaw!” she says, sitting back to let Dovepaw up. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to come back for _forever.”_

Dovepaw glances to the moon, which has almost set. “Don’t you have to get up early?” she teases.

Ivypaw waves her tail, shaking her head. “Who cares! I was too excited to sleep. So, what did Starclan tell you? Something cool, right? Don’t you have a connection to them?” She butts her head to Dovepaw’s pale chest. “Marked by them, weren’t you?” There’s a playful grin to her tone.

“I don’t know that that’s Starclan,” Dovepaw lies, shoving Ivypaw off of her. “All it gives me is headaches.” _And visions of you bloodied._

“Well, it’s _cool,”_ Ivypaw says. “Anyways, Starclan? Did you get anything about me?”

“I—”

Dovepaw cuts herself off.

“Dovepaw?” Ivypaw tilts her head. “Are you good?”

“I am, it’s…” Dovepaw shakes herself. She can’t tell Ivypaw what she saw. She can’t tell Ivypaw about how her jaws are bloodstained, and she can’t tell Ivypaw about the prophecy. If she does…

Dovepaw doesn’t _know._ But it’s all everyone’s telling her to do: that she’s a medicine cat, now, and that her visions remain her own. She saw herself winged and many-eyed. Why would she burden Ivypaw with that?

Lifting a trembling paw, Dovepaw presses it to Ivypaw’s chest, and she Sees.

Ivypaw is standing on a rock, and the crowd below her is cheering a name: Ivypool! Ivypool! There is a roar to it, an echo, and Dovepaw Knows that Ivypaw is barely hearing it. There is a niggling at the edges of Ivypaw’s mind, instead, one that is anger tinged with sadness tinged with determination: there is a part of Ivypaw that is set, and says _this won’t be the rest of my life._

There’s a warmth at Ivypaw’s side, the gentle brush of fur. There is a sharp tang at the sides of her mouth, as she twists her grin into a snarl.

The vision fades in a second, and Dovepaw stumbles over her own paws, shaking herself. Everything around her is too clear and too sharp—there is nothing that is fading into the background. She can see every thorn in the bramble entrance, see every gray fur above Ivypaw’s eye. Again, that phantom feeling of wings, and then—

Dovepaw blinks and the world is normal again. Ivypaw is staring at her, and Dovepaw has never been able to read a cat less.

“I’m going to Riverclan,” she says, instead. “To get trained. I don’t know for how long.”

“Dovepaw—what?” Ivypaw asks. She takes a step closer, and Dovepaw sits back hard, crushing her tail under her. Her fur is on-end and it’s getting a bit harder to breathe. Has the air always been this heavy? Her ears this sensitive? “Riverclan? You look—do you want me to get someone else?”

“No!” Dovepaw yelps, shaking her head. “No, no, I’m just—there was nothing! Nothing happened! Why’d you have to wait up for me? I wasn’t ever going to tell you anything!” Dovepaw bares her teeth as she tries again to stand, to escape back to the medicine den.

“You…weren’t?” Ivypaw frowns. “But—I’m your sister. Or, wait.” A weak smile. “You were going to tell Briarpaw, weren’t you? I can go wake her up. I offered for her to wait with me, but she said she’d just talk to you in the morning.”

“I wasn’t going to tell her either!” Dovepaw says. “I can’t, I don’t—” She stands, finally, and tries to blink the wooziness out of her eyes—she’s scared to look behind her, scared to see those phantom wings. Why are they weighing on her back? She saw them in a reflection! They can’t be real, they won’t be! Starclan, Starclan wouldn’t…

“Dovepaw!” Ivypaw snaps, a growl to her tone. “What’s _wrong_ with you? Are all medicine cats crazy? No wonder Cinderheart didn’t want to be one!”

“I’m not!” Dovepaw yells. “It’s not _crazy!_ Maybe I never wanted to tell you what I saw!” But she did, she did, she so, so did. “Go away!”

Dovepaw turns, and flees for the medicine den. She doesn’t look back to see what Ivypaw does. She curls up in her nest, tucks her nose under her paws, and pretends she can’t feel the tickle of feathers against her sides.

The vision changed _again._ And it’s—it’s not blood, but she’s never known how Ivypaw was feeling before. And that’s…why was she mad? Why was she sad? She was being made a warrior, wasn’t she?

Cinderheart was right to not be a medicine cat. Dovepaw helped her. She can help everyone. If Ivypaw is mad but not dead, if Leafpool can sit peacefully by a river, if Dovepaw can figure out where the three are like Starclan told her too—she can save everyone.

She’s not sure when Leafpool comes into the den, only that she hears the pad of footsteps, a soft, “you did the right thing,” and then nothing else. Dovepaw tucks her tail tighter around her nose, squeezes her eyes shut. If she focuses on the darkness, she can ignore the way she can still see movement, as the clan wakes up. She can ignore the way Ivypaw glances to the medicine den, before shaking it off and following Cinderheart out of camp.

She can ignore Briarpaw entering the medicine den, resting her tail on Dovepaw’s back with a sigh. “I’m here, if you want to talk,” Briarpaw says.

There is a crack. Dovepaw watches as though she is a bird passing by, coming to scout for dead things to scavenge from. There is a crack, and then there is a dead thing for her to consume.

Dovepaw ignores Briarpaw, until the molly gives her a fond lick on the head, and leaves.

Willowshine comes to take her to Riverclan a week later. Dovepaw doesn’t tell her sister goodbye.

* * *

Riverclan camp is beautiful.

It’s the first thing Dovepaw notices as she enters, led by Willowshine down a well-worn path lined on either side with blooming flowers in purples and blues. The stones she had to cross to get to the path weren’t fun, slippery and hard-to-grip, and the promise of a faceful of water if she slipped didn’t help any. But here, on solid ground…

They pause for a moment at the camp’s main entrance, bordered on either side by what Dovepaw thinks are dens, made of twisted reeds and various other plants. There’s not much in the way of trees, here, other than a towering willow tree close to the streams, that casts long shadows over the camp, and is adorned with small things that sparkle and glint in the sun. There are more flowers, as well, that circle each of the dens, different colors and shapes. In one corner of camp, around the tree, is a rather large patch of flowers, and a few herbs that Dovepaw recognizes—borage and catmint, tansy and mallow. There’s a pale gray molly trickling water onto the plants, from a sodden ball of moss.

“You grow things?” Dovepaw asks, following Willowshine deeper into camp. There’s more she’s noticing, the deeper in she gets—feathers woven into the dens, from jays and crows and hawks, shells and pretty rocks pressed alongside the well-trod paths of the camp.

Willowshine shrugs. “It’s not that hard.” She nods in greeting to the cat watering the flowers, and takes a turn, leading Dovepaw down a path to a reed-woven den that starts at a scrubby bush. Willowshine shoves her way in, and Dovepaw follows, the space opening up quick into a spacious den. There’s a stream that trickles through one side, herbs tucked in little holes against the sides of the den, and a space further back with a few nests, probably for any sick cats. Currently, there’s just one cat: a small apprentice, scruff-furred, who brightens when they enter.

“Willowshine!” he says, scrambling to his paws, though he keeps his weight off his right forepaw. “I think I can leave, now.”

“What did Mothwing say before leaving?” Willowshine asks, dipping her paw into the stream. Tilting her head towards Dovepaw, she says, “the stream here is for drinking, mostly, but if you need water for any other reason, there’s always moss around. And if you can’t find any, just send any apprentice out, or find someone sunning and tell them to go on a quick run for some.”

“Mothwing said I was fine,” says the apprentice, tail flicking. “Who’s this?” He glances curiously to Dovepaw.

“Dovepaw,” Willowshine says, “Thunderclan’s newest medicine cat. Mothwing and I will be training her for a few moons, so be kind to her until then, okay? And don’t worry about her spilling clan secrets: us medicine cats have our own code.”

“I’m Hollowpaw,” he greets. “I bet you’re gonna miss your clan, if you’re gonna be here for long. Imagine celebrating the end of newleaf all alone!”

“Don’t be rude,” Willowshine chides. “And she’ll be fine. There’s enough fish for us all.” The molly shakes herself with a sigh. “And get back in your nest. I don’t trust that you’re okay.”

“It’s not _my_ fault I get all weird when a bee stings me,” Hollowpaw complains, flopping back down into his nest. “Can you tell us any Thunderclan secrets? Do you celebrate with like, birds?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dovepaw says. Celebrating the end of newleaf? Is that…Riverclan speech for like, a big hunting party, or something?

“Y’know,” Hollowpaw says. “You spend a day fishing, and then you spend a day getting pretty things, and then you eat a fish and decorate and tell stories and sing songs. And then you dare your sister to eat a mushroom if they start growing, and she says, ‘Hollowpaw, we weren’t even born last leaf-fall, what do you know about mushrooms?’ And then you tackle her.”

“Don’t mushrooms grow in the forest?” Dovepaw asks, the only part she’s able to understand. Celebration? Songs? Decorating?

“They sometimes grow near old trees at the river,” Willowshine says. “And do _not_ eat them, most of the ones that grow around here are fatal.”

“No fun,” Hollowpaw says.

“It’s my job to keep you guys alive,” Willowshine says with a hint of laughter. “Alright, Dovepaw. You look more confused than I’ve ever seen you, which, considering the first time we met I knew more Thunderclan stories than you did, well, I’ve seen you confused. Jayfeather never told me anything about Thunderclan traditions—do you really not celebrate the start and end of seasons?”

“No,” Dovepaw says. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Or—collecting pretty things? And growing flowers and herbs.”

“No _wonder_ you guys are so stuck-up!” Hollowpaw says. “Your camp must be so ugly!”

“It’s…fine,” Dovepaw says. It’s certainly not as colorful as Riverclan’s is, but it’s well-protected from any invaders. There’s not so much as a bramble that Dovepaw’s seen in Riverclan’s camp. “Sometimes the walls of the gorge can be pretty, when it rains.”

“Oh, I bet you’ve never _seen_ pretty rocks,” Hollowpaw says, bouncing to his paws. “Willowshine, can I—”

Willowshine laughs. “Okay, fine,” she says. “Let me know if anything hurts. Go ahead and show Dovepaw around camp, will you?” She turns to Dovepaw. “Since it’s your first day here, you won’t have to do much—Mothwing is busy, besides. She’ll be back tonight.”

“I—are you sure?” Dovepaw asks. She’s never just…had a day to do nothing. Shouldn’t she be learning more herbs? “I still don’t know what herbs go with what cures.”

“There’s time,” Willowshine says. “You’ll be here for, what, a few moons? Plenty of time. Oh! Hollowpaw, don’t go too far. I don’t want you getting hurt out there, and Dovepaw’s not trained.”

“Okay, okay!” Hollowpaw says, making a break for the exit. Dovepaw follows him, much slower, pushing her way out of the medicine den and into camp. There’s more cats than when she first entered: Dovepaw counts seven or so, a few adding reed to dens, that same pale gray one watering the flowers, the others in various states of lazing around. Hollowpaw heads for a molly that looks a bit like him, who perks up and tilts her head.

“Who’s your friend?” she asks.

“This is the Thunderclanner, Dovepaw.” Hollowpaw butts heads with the molly—his sister, Dovepaw thinks. “Dovepaw, this is Mossypaw. I was gonna show her the rocks. Thunderclan doesn’t decorate at _all,_ can you believe it?”

Mossypaw blinks. “Not at _all?_ You guys must be no fun.”

It would be very easy to see this molly’s future. The thought nags at Dovepaw’s brain, and she does her best to ignore it. “We don’t have time to decorate,” she says, instead. “We have to hunt.”

“Oh, well, we don’t even have to leave camp to do that,” Hollowpaw says, sweeping his tail out to indicate the river circling camp. “There’s enough fish that still haven’t figured out that this is a bad river to be in. You can practically be in your nest and catch fish!” He lashes out with a paw, as though hooking his claws though the air—miming fishing, Dovepaw guesses.

“Actually,” Mossypaw says, “I should go fishing, or else Minnowtail is going to yell at me. Do you two wanna come?”

“I can’t fish,” Dovepaw says. And she’s not even a Riverclan cat, and beyond that she’s a _medicine cat—_ what’s going on? First flowers, then celebrations, and now…friendliness? It’s probably _good_ the Riverclan apprentices are including her, but…

She saw Briarpaw _die._ What if these two are going to die, too?

She doesn’t notice she’s reached out a paw to brush Mossypaw’s side until she’s getting a vision: the moon a thin sliver up above, and Mossypaw—an older version of her—with a torn ear and shredded fur around her eye, dropping a mouthful of pale purple flowers onto a dead tom—Hollowpaw, Dovepaw realizes. A patched dark gray-and-white molly sits beside her, and is saying something, too low for Dovepaw to make out.

“…want to see the rocks or not?” Hollowpaw is saying when the vision ends, throwing Dovepaw abruptly back into the conversation. That was—

She takes a deep breath. It’s not as bad as Knowing Briarpaw was dead. She barely knows Hollowpaw, maybe…maybe she can prevent his death, too. A battle, maybe? She’ll…she’s a medicine cat. She can help the injured.

“I, uh, yes,” Dovepaw says, realizing the two were talking to her. “I’ll see rocks.”

Hollowpaw shows her rocks—it’s on a little island off of Riverclan’s main camp, and Dovepaw is surprised he doesn’t tell a warrior where he’s going, but isn’t about to ask him to do that, herself. The rocks themselves are a mix of sizes and shapes, all spread out on the little island, in no particular pattern that Dovepaw can see. Some of them are piled up, while others stand alone. The largest pile is in the center of the island, taller than Dovepaw, most of the rocks in that one varying shades of pale gray.

“That’s for Stonefur,” Hollowpaw says, nodding at the largest pile. “Mistyfoot, she says some of the rocks are all the way from the old territory! She helped carry them herself.”

Dovepaw tilts her head. “It’s like a grave?” That’s…oddly sweet. Weird that she’s being shown it, though—she doubts her clan would so willingly show where they bury their dead, though maybe as a medicine cat she’s exempt from normal rules?

“Uh, more like a, what’s the word, memorial! It’s like a memorial.” Hollowpaw trots over to the largest pile, and rears up on his hind paws to rest his forepaws on the rocks. Dovepaw follows, and notices, as she gets closer, that the stones closer to the bottom have pawprints on them—like someone dipped their paw into mud and pressed it into the stone. “So, you can talk to them when they’re up in Starclan. Hey, the medicine cat meeting was a few nights ago, wasn’t it? Did you get to see Starclan?” Hollowpaw drops back down, turning to face her.

“Uh—yes,” Dovepaw says, shuffling her paws. “I can’t talk about it. I mean, not just because I’m Thunderclan, but because we’re not supposed to talk about those things.”

“Aw, pity.” Hollowpaw pauses to lick his paw and rub his ear, before heading back the way they came. “Oh well. I guess you wouldn’t see anybody I know, anyways. Wanna go catch fish? I bet Mossypaw is bored.”

“I’m a medicine cat,” Dovepaw say, but she follows, still. Where else would she go?

“So? What, do Thunderclan medicine cats never hunt?” Hollowpaw wades his way through the shallows of the river, swimming when it gets deeper, while Dovepaw sticks to the little bits of half-land, wet bits of earth that aren’t entirely dry, but certainly better than swimming. There’s enough of them that she makes it back to the main island without having to swim, shaking her paws as dry as she can.

Hollowpaw leads her to an empty bit of island, where there’s no dens or flowers, but where the river is deeper—already, when Dovepaw peers in, she can see little dark shadows moving. Mossypaw is there, though she doesn’t move when they come over, gaze fixed on the river. She’s still, until she lashes out with a paw in a splash, hooking a small, silvery fish up out of the water, and snapping her jaws around it. The fish twitches weakly.

“Hey, good catch!” Hollowpaw calls, skidding to a stop at the edge of the island. “What is that, a minnow?”

“Yeah,” Mossypaw says, muffled around the fish. She drops it, giving it a hard slap with her paw, and the fish goes still. “Getting tired of them. I would do anything for a trout.”

“ _You_ would,” Hollowpaw teases, ducking the swipe Mossypaw aims at his head. Loudly, head tilted towards Dovepaw, he whispers, “she’s got the _hugest_ crush on Troutpaw.”

Dovepaw nods. There’s a lot going on, here—a lot that she has no context for, especially not the inner workings of what Riverclan cats like what other Riverclan cats. She sits beside the river while the two siblings tussle, staring at the slow-swimming fish. Could she catch a fish? It didn’t look… _too_ hard. And it’s not like she has anything better to do, is it?

Before she can make up her mind, Hollowpaw is knocked into her by Mossypaw, and Dovepaw’s no longer looking into the river. She is instead in a shadowed forest, the trees spread around her taller than any trees she’s ever seen before, huge and broad, with branches that blot out the sky below. Hollowpaw is there, standing in a murky stream, and there are slimy river-plants brushing against his legs. There is another cat before him, one Dovepaw’s only ever seen in visions, a dark brown tabby with a white chest. Hollowpaw is staring up at him with something like fear.

“I liked her,” Hollowpaw is saying, and despite the fear, his words are strong. “Isn’t that enough?”

The tabby stares at Hollowpaw, and then sighs, and the vision dies away.

* * *

Dovepaw’s days in Riverclan don’t have much of a structure to them, but she’s still always finding _something_ to do. She doesn't meet Mothwing until the second day, as apparently, she was at the Moonpool with the newly-appointed Mistystar. And with the return of Mothwing came more herbs to learn, lessons in which plants grow where, how to properly harvest herbs without uprooting entire plants, and, even, how to care for the flowers and herbs growing in Riverclan camp. Dovepaw still doesn’t know _when_ Riverclan had time to figure out how to collect, plant, and water flowers, not amidst all the hunting they must have to do. It’s a task that takes a few hours a day, just the watering—Dovepaw doesn’t entirely get the point.

And beyond just medicine cat duties, she finds herself spending her spare time with the other four apprentices, Hollowpaw, Mossypaw, another brother of theirs, Rushpaw, and Troutpaw. The apprentices, too, have no structure to their days: she’ll see them laze around camp for an entire day, and not speak with their mentors beyond a few words of greetings. It’s…weird, but it does mean they keep trying to teach her to fish, which Dovepaw quickly learns she’s no good at. There’s supposed to be a technique to it, something about waiting and hooking out with claws and dragging the thrashing thing to her mouth, but it’s just…hard. Much harder than memorizing herbs, for sure.

But things settle down, after a week, when Dovepaw’s gotten over the strong taste of fish and has managed to keep herself from getting anymore visions, even when the desire to do so gnaws like hunger in her gut. She wakes one morning to find she’s actually looking forwards to the daily swim lesson—maybe one day she’ll get the apprentices to stop calling her a drypaw.

“Morning, Dovepaw!” Willowshine calls, already moving about the den, checking the herb stores. “We’re running low on coltsfoot, think you could go out and grab some? It’s the…”

“The yellow one,” Dovepaw says, sitting up in her nest. “Or white? Little tiny petals in a circle. We use the leaves for, uh, breathing problems. And…sores?”

“On the pads, but yeah, that’s right.” Willowshine purrs, tail curling. “It grows near the river, you can grab any free apprentice to take you down there. I want to stock up before greenleaf. Oh, Mothwing is out fishing—tell her I need to talk to her if you see her.”

“Why do you guys do that? Fish?” Dovepaw asks. “Like, you and Mothwing.”

Willowshine shrugs. “Not like anybody’s sick right now, is there? Plus, there’s two of us, three if we count you—so long as someone’s in camp, it’s fine.” She tugs some bits of dry comfrey root out from its little hole in the reed-wall, and considers it. “Might need more comfrey root, too,” she mutters. “And, back to the conversation, I know Shadowclan medicine cats can hunt and fight, as can Windclan’s. Does Thunderclan…not?”

“I don’t know,” Dovepaw says. “I guess…I think Leafpool _can_ hunt, but she doesn’t actually do it. But you and Mothwing actively go out to fish.”

“Well.” Willowshine pauses, turning to face Dovepaw. “I’ve always thought Thunderclan was a little odd with their medicine cats, if I’m being honest. Jayfeather…well, I don’t think he was ever actually taught to hunt, not in any real capacity. And his sister—we used to know each other, and the way she’d talk about her brother…this was back when we were all apprentices, but it just rubbed me the wrong way, a bit. I'm of the belief that medicine cats can still learn to fish and fight and help with that if they want, and since you’re here as our apprentice, I’m going to be teaching you that, even if it’ll just help you out for a few moons.”

“Oh,” Dovepaw says, face warm. “I—thanks. Then.”

Willowshine laughs. “No problem. You’re pretty cool! I’m glad you’re learning from us. I’ve always wanted an apprentice, and Starclan knows the ones we do have are always in here with whatever dumb scrapes they’ve gotten. Now: herbs?”

“Right,” Dovepaw says, standing and heading for the exit. “I can go get those. Just coltsfoot?”

“Comfrey root if you can find it, but we might’ve harvested the last of it for the season. Beyond that, you have a general idea of herb stores—if you find anything you think we need, grab it. After that I’ll see if I can’t start teaching you to swim. As great as the apprentices are, I really doubt they’re any good at teaching.”

“They’re trying?” Dovepaw offers, her ears perking up just a bit. “Thanks, Willowshine.”

“Anytime.”

Dovepaw ends up with Hollowpaw, and his mentor, Reedwhisker, the both of them heading out to hunt near where the coltsfoot is. Dovepaw hasn’t spoken much with Reedwhisker, and knows little about him other than the fact that he’s Riverclan’s deputy, and, according to Hollowpaw, ‘way too excited about getting up early.’

“Psst, Dovepaw,” Hollowpaw says, slowing down to walk beside her. “Mossypaw says Minnowtail says that Icewing said she found a dump of all this shiny stuff some twolegs dumped. Wanna go check that out, after this? The whole clan’s gonna be picking through it, and if you want anything cool, you’re going to have to get there fast.”

“What would I do with something shiny?” Dovepaw asks, keeping her voice just as low. She’s come to appreciate the beauty of Riverclan, and does _like_ the flowers, but the little things woven into their dens, or the odd bits of flat, shiny twoleg things that reflect the sun and are sharp to the touch, well, she doesn’t want those with her, really.

“Oh, come _on,_ you have to know by now how to decorate.” Hollowpaw huffs at her, tossing his head. “Mossypaw and Troutpaw are gonna be there, too.”

“I’m not sure why you think that’s an advantage,” Dovepaw says, crinkling her nose.

“Okay, yeah, watching them flirt does get kinda awful.” Hollowpaw sticks his tongue out, and then snorts. “It’s like, hey, yeah, we get it—you’re gonna be mates! Just say that and be done with it!”

“My sister is like that, too,” Dovepaw says, thinking back to all the times she’s seen Ivypaw and Blossompaw…not flirt, really, but just make it apparent they wanted things to only be the two of them. It was more noticeable when she was a kit, actually. She hasn’t…

“Dovepaw? You good?” Hollowpaw waves a paw in her face. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I—nevermind,” Dovepaw mutters. It’s been a week since she’s seen Ivypaw. It’s—how hasn’t she noticed? Ivypaw is her _sister,_ her best and closest friend—how didn’t she notice her absence? It should be like a thorn in the side, but instead, she’s here, making friends with a Riverclan apprentice who is going to die, and for what?

Dovepaw’s barely thought about Thunderclan in a week, and that hits her hard. She hasn’t had nightmares of Briarpaw dying, or headaches from vision after vision of her sister’s future—ever since the first day, she hasn’t even had a vision! And that hurts too, but it’s a hurt like hunger, one she can ignore. How does that hurt more than not seeing her friends?

…are they her friends? They were, Dovepaw knows, when she was a kitten and she was part of their little group of four. But now? Now, she’s in Riverclan, and she can’t tell them anything about her visions, and Leafpool said it herself that relationships change, as a medicine cat. Have they already? When she goes back to Thunderclan, who’s going to greet her?

And what about her friends here, in Riverclan? She’s already seen Ivypaw’s future change just because Dovepaw was in it—Starclan told her she would Watch and Know, but what good is knowing if she can’t change it? She tried to help Cinderheart, and she’s seen Cinderheart terrified. She tried to help Ivypaw, and now Ivypaw stands tall and bloody and entirely alien. Has she already ruined things in Riverclan, too? Set Hollowpaw already on the path to his death? If she tries to See Willowshine’s future, will she be somewhere new, too? No longer talking with a long-haired stranger, but dead?

Is Dovepaw the force that caused all this?

“I—I can do this myself,” Dovepaw says, freezing. Hollowpaw looks to her, worried. “I don’t—Willowshine showed me around. I know where the herbs are. I can get them myself.”

“What about getting shiny things?” Hollowpaw asks, while Reedwhisker shakes his head and studies Dovepaw with dark eyes.

“You are a guest here,” he says. “You don’t have to do these things on your own. It’s no trouble for me and Hollowpaw to tag along—we can fish and you can get your herbs.”

“Willowshine told me where Mothwing was,” Dovepaw lies. “I can go find her.”

There’s a long moment, where Dovepaw holds her breath as Reedwhisker considers, but eventually he shrugs. “I suppose that’s fine, then,” he says. “Do go straight for Mothwing, though. I don’t want you to get lost.”

“I won’t,” Dovepaw says. Hollowpaw gives her an almost pleading look, but Dovepaw turns away, and walks until their footfalls fade away into the distance, and then she sighs, long and deep, and sinks down to the ground.

She _can’t._ She can’t endanger anybody like she already has. She’ll just—she’s probably already ruined Willowshine’s life. She can just check, when she gets back to camp. And then go from there, and try to help Willowshine, and then if she’s gone there’s no reason for any of the apprentices to get hurt. Hollowpaw won’t die. None of them will die.

When Dovepaw makes it back to camp, holding coltsfoot and without Mothwing, she goes straight for the medicine den, and bumps against Willowshine. The vision she gets for that comes on roaring, like a cat pouncing for a doomed mouse, and the scene expands in front of her. Immediately, Dovepaw knows something has changed—that same black molly is there, but no longer are she and Willowshine at the Gathering. Instead, they are in what looks like a camp—Windclan’s camp, if Dovepaw had to guess, given the scrubby bushes. It is filled with cats and only some of them seem to be Windclan.

“If this is it…” Willowshine says, trailing off. She lifts a paw, goes to press it to the black molly’s chest, but backs out, at the last moment. “I don’t think I believe in them, anymore.” There is a weight to _them,_ as though it should mean something to Dovepaw.

“Good,” says the black molly. She turns to look at another cat in the camp—a gray tabby. He’s got his tail flicking, amusing a scrawny black-and-white apprentice, who pounces clumsily after it. “They don’t deserve it.”

“Wish we had time to figure out what we were,” Willowshine says, and stands, giving the black molly a long look. “I really loved you, once.”

The black molly looks back to Willowshine, and Dovepaw realizes that she is crying. “There’s—with the time we have left.” She takes in a shaky breath. “I think…maybe we just have to _feel.”_

The vision dies, with that, and Dovepaw comes back to herself, feeling clear-headed in a way she hasn’t in a while. A lingering headache she didn’t notice is gone, as is that odd gnawing in her gut. She blinks to try and get some of the sharpness out of her vision, dropping the coltsfoot.

“Did you happen to find Mothwing?” Willowshine asks, as though nothing has happened. Dovepaw shakes her head. “Oh, well, I’ll talk to her after she gets back to camp. Thanks, by the way. Swimming, now?”

Dovepaw learns that day how to swim. None of the other apprentices are in camp.

* * *

The moon passes comfortably in Riverclan. The Gathering comes and goes, and with it, comes a distant ache for Thunderclan. She didn’t go to the Gathering, not that she wasn’t offered it, and it’s hard to rid herself of thoughts of Ivypaw and Briarpaw. It’s _good,_ that she didn’t see them. She doesn’t need to see their futures. She can content herself with the fact that when she brushes against Mossypaw, it is to see an injured Hollowpaw—not a dead one.

She is sorting through the herbs, right now. It’s a task for her to focus on, to push aside troubling thoughts. Besides, she’s learned enough that Mothwing and Willowshine trust her with this—she hasn’t mixed up herbs in forever, and she can identify them on sight. Not, of course, that it helps any when she can’t find the herb she needs. She _thought_ there was comfrey root left—she knew there was some when Willowshine and Mothwing left for the Gathering yesterday, but apparently, they’ve run out since then.

“Oh, Dovepaw,” Mothwing says, and Dovepaw lifts her head to see the molly push her way into the den, her fur still dripping with river-water. “I was wondering where you are. I really need that comfrey root—Mintfur’s leg is acting up, again.”

“We’re out,” Dovepaw says, shoving the bundle of cobwebs back where she found it. Her paws are sticky with the residue, and she stands, heading over to the little stream to clean them off. “Or, I can’t find any.” She gives her paws a good shake when they’re clean, one at a time.

“Well, that’s…” Mothwing shakes her head. “I’m always telling Willowshine to double-check our stocks. Mintfur had a broken leg, I tell her, make sure to always check on comfrey! And she won’t stop gossiping about Breezepelt.” Mothwing sits beside Dovepaw, curls her tail around her paws. “One of your friends asked about you.”

Dovepaw’s head jerks up. “They did?”

“She said her name was Briarpaw,” Mothwing says. “She asked if you had come, and when I said no, if there was any way you two could meet up. She said she’d been checking our shared border, for a while, seeing if you two might pass each other.”

“Briarpaw’s not…” Dovepaw trails off.

“Not your friend?”

“No, it’s just.” Dovepaw takes a breath, glances to Mothwing out of the corner of her eye. She hasn’t confided much in Mothwing, really. She hasn’t confided in Willowshine, either, but it’s a bit easier to talk to Willowshine—they click more, or something. Mothwing is…odder. All Dovepaw knows about her is she has some sort of relationship with Leafpool. Mothwing agreed to train Dovepaw and take her into Riverclan—there has to be more than a polite friendship. “Leafpool told me being a medicine cat means you can’t tell your clanmates a lot of stuff.”

Mothwing lets out an aborted laugh, something like surprise. “Oh, wow,” she says, “that’s—for all I care about Leafpool, and for all she’s helped me, don’t take everything she says as the truth. She’s…her life has been a difficult one.”

“Well, what do you think, then?” Dovepaw asks.

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Mothwing says. “Is being a medicine cat different than being a warrior? Yes, extremely—I trained as a warrior apprentice first, actually. It’s a lot harder to…when you don’t share a den with your friends, and you’re busy trying to take on one of the most difficult roles in the clan, those relationships become difficult to maintain.”

“Why’d you become a medicine cat?” Dovepaw asks, looking up at Mothwing.

“I wanted to heal cats,” Mothwing says. “I didn’t care much for fighting. I wanted to make something more of myself. Any number of those. It was my brother who convinced me to do it. He was…he had his moments.”

“A brother?” Dovepaw asks, perking up. “Where is he?”

“Not here,” Mothwing says, which—oh. _Had his moments._ Dovepaw probably should’ve picked up on that. “Dovepaw, if you’re coming to me for advice, just—after I became a medicine cat, I stopped talking to him. For a few reasons, but one of them was that it was easy to get out of seeing him. To not have the conversations we needed. I don’t regret my position, I love what I do and I’ve made great friends, but there are some things I’d change.”

Dovepaw considers this. Turns it over in her brain like checking a mouse for maggots. Mothwing had a brother. Mothwing is friends with Leafpool. Actually…

“What about Starclan?” Dovepaw asks. “The…prophecies, and stuff. Have you ever…” she lets the thought linger. Leafpool said nothing about wings and eyes when talking about Starclan. That’s not—it’s not normal. She was chosen by Starclan. Phantom wings stir at her sides.

Mothwing lets out another sigh, shaking her head slowly. “That’s—that’s a whole other issue. Ask Willowshine.”

“But you’ve been medicine cat longer!” Dovepaw presses. “You—you were gonna be a warrior. Surely, there was something from Starclan that made you decide to change, right?”

“Starclan isn’t…Dovepaw, I don’t believe in Starclan.”

“What?” Dovepaw nearly trips over her own paws in how fast she gets up, skidding around on Mothwing with her fur all fluffed up. “But—but you’re the medicine cat. You go to the Moonpool, I saw you there!”

“I go to the Moonpool to meet with the other medicine cats,” Mothwing says, lifting her head and looking down at Dovepaw. Her eyes are half-slit, and Dovepaw looks away, dropping her head and sitting back down. “Do you need to believe in Starclan to know which herbs to use when? To advise your leader?”

“But.” Dovepaw scuffs at the floor. “But prophecies.”

“I’m going to tell you what I told Willowshine,” Mothwing says, lifting a paw and resting it on Dovepaw’s own. Her voice is soft, gentle. “Starclan isn’t real for me. They never have been. I’m not telling you to drop your belief in them—I’m simply asking you to question it. You’re _here,_ not in the stars. Everything you do, every cat you save—that’s because of _you._ It’s because you studied and memorized and learned. The history of the clans, that’s something that has been written in the blood of real cats who once lived and breathed. We’re writing that history now. We aren’t beholden to the past any more than the future is beholden to the decisions we make. You’re always a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Mothwing stands, after that, setting her paw back down and giving Dovepaw a lick between the ears. “Now,” she says. “Mintfur’s leg isn’t going to get stronger without our help. Want to learn a Riverclan secret?”

“I’m not a Riverclan cat,” Dovepaw says in light protest, making her own way up and out of the den, into the dreary sunshine of the afternoon. The clouds ahead are thick and dark with rain, but the cats in Riverclan don’t seem to care or notice—Dovepaw catches two of the older warriors sharing a fish in a weak patch of sunlight; Mossypaw and Hollowpaw racing in the river around camp, cheered on by a Troutpaw that charges after them on foot, Rushpaw watching them from the banks; a group of young warriors arranging and rearranging their collection of shells and shiny things, making shapes in an empty spot in the camp. Dovepaw spots Mintfur and Willowshine near the exit, both of them talking.

“One benefit of being a medicine cat,” Mothwing says, waving her tail in greeting to Willowshine and Mintfur. “Clan boundaries are much fuzzier.”

“Hey, you two!” Willowshine calls. “Finally here to help? Dovepaw, I told you to get that comfrey like, years ago.” Her tone is teasing, and she offers Dovepaw a crooked grin, before turning back to Mintfur. “I’m sorry I’m the only competent one here.”

Mothwing cuffs her around the ears. “We’re out of comfrey root,” she chides.

“Oh.” Willowshine’s tail drops. “Oops.” She glances to Mintfur.

“Uh, how much pain are you in?” Dovepaw asks. There’s no point giving Mintfur something for pain if he’s free of it.

“I can go without it,” Mintfur says.

“Good,” Mothwing says. “Because somebody,” a glare at Willowshine, nothing too harsh, “is going to have to go grab more.”

“I get it, I get it, I’ll go.” Willowshine rolls her eyes and strides into the river, quickly paddling across to the other side. She’s a graceful swimmer—way better than Dovepaw is. “You’re gonna be missing me later!”

“I think me and Dovepaw will handle things,” Mothwing says, dryly. She turns to Mintfur. “Here, let’s find some deeper water for you to actually get a good swim in.”

Swimming, Dovepaw learns, is the Riverclan secret—a way for a cat recovering from an injured leg to get strength back in their unused muscle. She doesn’t have to help, much, what with her being the only non-Riverclanner in the area, but she sits on the shore as Mintfur swims, first in the shallows but then going out further under Mothwing’s supervision, while Mothwing quizzes her on herbs in the area in the meantime. Eventually, Dovepaw gets into the river herself—she’s only ever swam in the river surrounding Riverclan camp, which isn’t the same as this river. This one has more of a current to it, and her swimming hasn’t ever been anything graceful.

She drags herself out of the water once she’s good and tired, a sodden mess beside Mothwing.

“You Thunderclaners,” Mothwing teases, “not a single waterproof coat among you.”

“I’m trying my _best,”_ Dovepaw says, giving herself a good shake. All that does is get Mothwing damp. Dovepaw huffs and licks her paw, rubbing it over her face. She feels heavy all over, and it’s not fair that water just slides off of Mintfur’s pelt when he starts to make his own way out. “…Mothwing?”

“Hmm?”

“When you became a medicine cat,” Dovepaw says. “And you—you gave up being a warrior. Did you miss the stuff you gave up? Not the stuff you told me already, but the stuff the code makes you give up.”

Mothwing is quiet. “That came out of nowhere.”

“I’m just…I don’t know. You mentioned Briarpaw.”

“Ah.” Mothwing stands, heading to Mintfur. “For what it’s worth, I do agree with the majority of the code.”

Dovepaw, without even knowing she’s doing it, reaches out a paw and just manages to bump it to Mothwing’s tail as she leaves. The vision she gets is a short thing: Mothwing watching two kittens tumble over each other in the medicine den, while a third whines about a thorn in their paw from the nests in the back. She shakes her head, smiles, and goes to help the kitten.

Phantom wings rustle on her back. For a second, Dovepaw can see the land behind her, the river cutting through the reeds, cats fishing near camp.

Dovepaw stands and shakes it off.

* * *

The end of newleaf brings with it hotter days, and also, the still-elusive celebration. One day, the entire clan spends decorating: feathers are woven into reeds are woven into vine-like strands that are draped over the branches of the willow. Flowers are picked and tucked into the walls of dens, covering them all in a dizzying array of colors: the medicine den ends up red and pink. Shells are placed with intent alongside shiny bits of twoleg-stuff and colorful rocks, all around camp. The next day, Riverclan hunts: every cat, even the elders, even _her,_ and they’re all catching up enough fish to feed all the clans. Fish are laid out in the center of camp, like a feast.

And then comes the day of the celebration, and Dovepaw is woken bright and early by Willowshine, nosing her awake with glee in her eyes.

“Time to say bye to newleaf!” Willowshine calls, dropping a mouthful of pink flowers into Dovepaw’s nest. “Here, I snagged these from the den before the masses descend on it, so if you want any more you’re gonna have to go brave it out there.”

Dovepaw rubs at her eyes. Willowshine has blue and green flowers in her pelt. They’ve been woven together hastily, a bit like the reeds and feathers that are draped over the willow, but thinner and shorter. There is one strand around her neck, and another loosely draped around her body, the end of it trailing on the ground. She shakes, and the strand around her neck shifts with it until the majority of it is dangling, rather than caught up in her ruff.

“I have no idea what’s happening,” Dovepaw says, because it’s the best she can do.

“Thunderclanners,” Willowshine scoffs, hooking up one of the pink flowers in a paw. “Did nobody ever teach you to weave?”

“All of this is _very_ Riverclan.” Dovepaw pushes herself up, pokes at one of the flowers.

“Windclan too,” Willowshine says, “at least, I think so? Kestrelflight refuses to confirm, but if you go over to our border with them, sometimes I see their cats doing what I think is some sort of celebration?” Willowshine shrugs, pulling out another few flowers as she begins to weave them together. It’s not a graceful thing, like the swimming is—this is Willowshine laying flowers next to each other, and carefully hooking stems in her claws, to tangle them together. Dovepaw offers her more flowers when Willowshine crooks her tail for one, and eventually, Dovepaw is handed a strand of pink flowers all woven together. Willowshine drapes it around Dovepaw’s neck, both ends of the strand dangling free.

It’s…a little odd, to wear. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s a weight, however small, and it tickles at her neck. Dovepaw shakes, to try and get it into a better position.

“There,” Willowshine says, “all decked out and pretty. Don’t worry if it gets destroyed by the end of the day—they always do. Whoever’s lasts ‘til sunfall gets to send them down the river.”

“Does that…mean anything?” Dovepaw asks, as she starts following Willowshine out of the den.

“Luck,” Willowshine says, and they enter into the camp.

Riverclan camp is a wild blur of colors and cheers, more than Dovepaw has ever seen it before. The entire clan is out and about, it seems like, and all of them have flowers in their pelts, some cats more than others—Dovepaw notices Hollowpaw, who’s only got a strand around his neck like her, and then Mossypaw beside him, taking careful steps as she tries to balance the seven separate strands draped around her back and tangling her paws. The dens aren’t as flower-covered as they were, but where they aren’t, Riverclan _is._ Mintfur is wearing a woven strand of feathers, preening and showing it off to his clanmates. Mistystar is decked out in pale blue flowers, laughing with Reedwhisker, who’s scrambling to keep his own strand from slipping off. Mothwing is sitting near the river, a small strand of green flowers around her ears.

“What’s…” Dovepaw trails off. It’s lively in a way she can’t remember ever seeing Thunderclan.

“Great, isn’t it?” Willowshine says with a purr, charging into the fray. Dovepaw can do nothing but follow.

There’s singing. There’s feasting. There’s a clan-wide river-race that one of the elders wins, to the astonished shouts of the apprentices. There’s no hunting, no patrolling—the many fish in the center of camp are eaten throughout the day, the ground becomes littered with fallen flower strands, that are later picked up when one of the younger warrior starts a flower-fight, to see who can throw flowers the furthest, and, when that doesn’t work, who can hit the most cats with them. Dovepaw doesn’t join in many of them—she takes a fish for herself, and watches, and listens.

There are stories told by the elders, stories of the very first Riverclan cats—stories of Riverstar and how he was said to harness the very river itself, call it forth to protect Riverclan always. Stories of won battles. Stories of accomplishments. Stories that are more like songs, and isn’t that something? Thunderclan doesn’t have songs, if Dovepaw’s thinking about it: the stories the elders told her were just words. But this is an experience—sung stories acted out by the warriors.

In the end, it’s Hollowpaw and Mossypaw who get her to join in on the festivities, the both of them prodding and dragging her away from where she was slowly eating her fish and piling up loose scales. Dovepaw protests, of course—it’s a struggle to keep the visions at bay.

“You’ve been sticking to the medicine den for _forever,”_ Hollowpaw says, “and that’s pretty stupid, and we’ve still got, like, a fourth of the day left. It’s the last day of newleaf! We don’t get to do this again for another year!”

“Everyone’s gonna be showing off,” Mossypaw says. She’s lost most of her flowers, though she does have a few plastered to her sides. “In the river! Apprentices never win, but we can try, yeah?”

“I’m not a Riverclan apprentice,” Dovepaw says, but ends up in the river, anyways. It’s nice, actually, to paddle in the deepest parts of it, the water cool around her. She avoids the bulk of the competition—away from them, the water is still, only disturbed by her own paws. It’ll be a nightmare when she leaves the water, of course, but it’s a hot day and she should dry, soon enough. It’s easier in the water than out of it.

“Are you having a good time?” Mothwing asks, when Dovepaw ends up nearby. Dovepaw shrugs, going to drag herself out of the river. It's gotten late without her noticing. The majority of the clan is back in the center of the camp—more feasting, she bets—and Dovepaw’s fur is water-logged and sodden. “Got lost in the swimming?” Mothwing asks, with a purr.

“I…yeah.” Dovepaw gives her chest a few licks, smoothing the fur down. She’s long since lost her strand of pink flowers, but Mothwing still has her own, perched on her head. “Hey, Mothwing? Why did you guys…this is a Riverclan celebration. Why am I here? Why did you teach me to swim? Why did Hollowpaw show me the memorials?” _Why are you all so nice to me?_

“You’re my apprentice,” Mothwing says. “That makes you Riverclan enough for this.”

“But…I’m _not._ I’m going to go back to Thunderclan.” Dovepaw looks back to the crowd of Riverclan cats, all eating together, the final bits of fish. The ground is scattered with flowers, a rainbow pressed into the damp earth. She catches a few pink flowers, though she’s not sure if they’re hers or not. It’s impossible to tell, and Dovepaw’s gut twists.

Mothwing smooths down some fur on Dovepaw’s head. “When Leafpool asked me to mentor you,” she says, “she wanted to lose you in the process.”

“What?” Dovepaw asks, frowning.

“Riverclan is…less strict, let’s say. We aren’t Thunderclan, and me and Leafpool have been friends since we were young—she knows this. Her previous apprentice and son ran away, and best-case scenario he’s starving. I lived as a loner, before I came to Riverclan, and food is always harder. Leafpool wanted to give you options.”

Dovepaw looks to the river out in front of her. “You guys want me to join Riverclan.”

“The plan was for us to offer it to you.” Mothwing follows Dovepaw’s gaze, Riverclan territory strewn out before them. “You took the position so nobody else would have to, Leafpool said.”

“But Leafpool doesn’t want it either,” Dovepaw says, dipping a paw into the water. It’s lukewarm at best.

“She doesn’t. But Leafpool is an adult—you’re still growing. Nobody would blame you if you decided to stay here, whether that be as a medicine cat or a warrior. Thunderclan might spit at you at gathering, but really, when aren’t they doing that?”

_Ivypaw would hate me if I stayed here,_ Dovepaw thinks. But she’d be safer, wouldn’t she? Her Thunderclan friends won’t be hurt by her power and visions if they’re across the lake. But then she’d be bringing doom to Riverclan, and she doesn’t want to just trade-out who gets hurt. And Leafpool would be stuck doing what she doesn’t want to do. And Dovepaw wouldn’t ever get to see Briarpaw again.

“I like helping,” Dovepaw starts, “and healing. And I have enjoyed it here, and I’m…I think it would be easier if I stayed here. And I don’t think I want to just do what’s easy. I can’t help anybody if I stay here.”

“You’re a good cat, Dovepaw,” Mothwing says, and she stands, sliding her strand of flowers off her head and offering it to Dovepaw. At Dovepaw’s blank look, she says, “sending them down the river gives you luck, doesn’t it?”

“Oh.” Dovepaw takes the strand. The river here it too slow to drag anything out into the main river, but it’s not that much of a walk to bring the strand there, and place it into the river. She watches the water tug it downstream until it’s gone from her view.

Claws dig into the dirt under her. The river flows by in a familiar roar. Dovepaw doesn’t look behind her, because she knows she’ll see wings if she does, heavy with everything but water.

Four moons, she spends in Riverclan. On that last half-moon meeting where she returns to Thunderclan with Leafpool, she wakes in the misty stars, and out from them walks a soot-gray tom with darker flecks, who stares at her with piercing blue eyes. Stars stick and sparkle in his fur.

“Dovepaw,” he greets.

The wings on Dovepaw’s back, real and solid in this hazy space, flutter. The eyes all stare ahead, wide and dark.

“Starclan has much to share with you,” he says. “We’re glad to see you back in your correct place.”

Something squirms inside of Dovepaw. She follows the tom despite it.

**Author's Note:**

> this wasn't supposed to get this long, i swear. this was supposed to be a fun little interlude. dove and ivy were supposed to get a chapter each. what the hell have i done. i mean, i know it's longer because the main bulk of dove and ivy's arcs are going to be in here, but jesus christ me. i hope yall like dovewing and ivypool. 
> 
> anyways, i haven't read omen of the stars since it was coming out, so like, if characters and events aren't exactly as they are, whoops! i Do Not Care. 
> 
> for the best experience, reread this chapter while listening to es by crying, otherwise known as the best dovewing song to exist, if you haven't watched nifty-senpai's pmv on it who are you. that thing changed my LIFE. i want you to understand that i used to be like, meh, on dovewing, but that pmv singlehandedly made me adore her. 
> 
> the imagery of dovewing's wings are inspired by the many, many, many fanarts i've seen on my dash of jon from the magnus archives--very beholding-like. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this! part two of dove's arc will be out...eventually.


End file.
